The Motivations For Violence
by WaterShadow
Summary: What causes people to get into fights?  An exploration of the many possible reasons and the situations that result.
1. Porcelain Steel

"The Motivations for Violence"

by: WaterShadow

Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or gain profits from anything related to it, nor do I socialize with the various actors who have brought the characters to life.

Tangent: this story is a disconnected series of one-shots all based on one theme. Pairings are there, but only if you squint, or if I choose to make them more overt. I hope you enjoy!

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Chapter One: Porcelain Steel

James T. Kirk knew what he was doing. He knew it was crazy, foolhardy, and probably exceedingly reckless. Bones would probably have the time of his life telling him just how stupid he was being. Maybe Bones would use some crazy old-time words, like "cockamamie" and "rabble-rousing."

Maybe Jim was doing it just so he'd be yelled at by the one person who knew how to do it in an entertaining manner.

He thought about that idea for a moment, and dismissed it. If he wanted to get lectured at the top of Bones' lungs (and how a guy could bellow like that and _not_ be heard in the Engineering deck or even out in the cold depths of space, he'd never know), there were plenty of other things he could do for a lot less effort to get that. Like refuse to eat vegetables for three days, or conveniently forget about his peanut allergy and go to a Thai restaurant. There were, simply, easier ways to be verbally and physically (though Bones always denied such things) abused.

Today, Jim knew, he would do something to actually earn the tongue-lashing.

Taking a deep breath, he nodded to the tall, slender Vulcan who entered the training room and stood, arms clasped loosely behind his back and his feet slightly spread. Spock, the Vulcan in question, nodded back with his typical serenity. "You wished to see me, Captain?" Spock inquired, his body and face perfectly still.

Jim started pacing, unconsciously providing a foil to his first officer. "I did, yes, Spock," he replied. "Thank you for coming."

"But of course, Captain," was the response. The perfect at-rest posture uncoiled a little, and Spock ventured closer to Kirk. "May one inquire as to the reason of your summons?"

In the back of his mind, Jim felt a very dim amusement fighting with the rest of himself to make a smile appear on his lips. Not now, though. The amusement with Spock's always painfully correct language wouldn't be allowed to show on his face just yet.

Vulcans weren't the only ones who could keep from showing emotions.

"It's perfectly simple, Spock," Jim replied, forcing himself to stop pacing. He faced the Vulcan from a distance of a few feet, looking up to meet dark eyes. "I want you to hit me as hard as you can."

Vulcans, as a general rule, were difficult to shock. Their faces showed so little aside from consideration and curiosity (and often, to Jim's not-so-secret glee, confusion) that other expressions on their typically still faces were always new and interesting.

He'd managed to shock Spock, all right. His eyes, typically full of thoughts rarely voiced, were blank, and his eyebrows (both!) were raised. Jim had to fight a little harder with that amused hindbrain. No matter how adorable Spock looked right now (and it'd take torture with lima beans and Bones' more painful hypos to get him to admit that out loud), he doubted Spock would take kindly to his captain outright laughing in his face.

"I beg your pardon, sir?" Spock, even in his flummoxation, still hadn't dropped that vexatiously perfect speech of his. Jim allowed a rueful sigh to escape his lips. It would probably take a lot more than verbally-delivered surprises to make Spock lose the formality that he must have been steeped in since birth.

This time, Jim didn't bother to hide his grin, though he knew it probably looked a lot more like a hungry predator smelling prey than like a human expressing amusement. He repeated himself more slowly, as if speaking to a small child. "I want you to hit me as hard as you can."

Surprise and blankness slowly bled off Spock's patrician features to be replaced by the far more familiar raised eyebrow. "Captain, I do not understand."

"What's to understand?" Jim bounced on the balls of his feet and stretched his neck from side to side. "I want to spar with you, and I want you to stop holding back."

Spock frowned. Jim hated that downturned lip. It always made him feel like he was in front of the principal after pranking his teacher or something equally juvenile. "I do not think that would be advisable, sir."

"Jim," Jim said wryly.

"Jim," Spock acknowledged. "Jim, this is not a good idea."

"You won't hurt me, Spock," Jim said, starting to feel frustrated for the first time since entering the room. "I probably can't seriously hurt you either, so why the hell not?"

Instead of answering, Spock tilted his head at Jim, still with that eyebrow raised. It was a surprisingly birdlike gesture and conveyed his inquisitiveness without an actual change in expression. Jim, somewhere in his mind, wondered how he managed to do that.

"This had something to do with our previous mission, does it not?"

Jim gritted his teeth. "That has nothing to do with today-"

"I believe it does, sir," Spock said, still calm, still maddeningly respectful. "I believe-"

"I believe that you should dodge, Mr. Spock," Jim interrupted, not wanting to hear what would inevitably come next. He rushed the Vulcan, one fist raised.

Part of him knew this was wrong. He knew he shouldn't attack Spock, who was his friend, who was concerned in his own inscrutable way, who only had his welfare at heart-

-who was dodging and moving to grab his jabbing right fist, doubtless to put him into a submission hold and force him to yield. One of Spock's favorite tricks, if he'd ever own up to such a thing.

Jim was having none of it. Just as Spock's warm, large hand closed around his wrist, Jim wrenched his hand backward to break that grip, and elbowed his slightly taller first officer in the abdomen.

Attempted to elbow, that is-Spock had moved back, out of range, raising his hands in the human gesture of defense. "Jim, this is not-"

Jim did not want to hear that, _thankyouverymuch_. He rushed the Vulcan again, ignoring the part of him screaming about how _stupid_ this was, how potentially suicidal, and how wrong it was to attack his friend, and the other parts of him were screaming for the thud of flesh on flesh, the frustration of command, the sheer helplessness he had felt on that mission-no,_ don'tthinkofthat_...

And Spock, somehow sensing a hesitation in Jim faster than Jim could cover for it (stupid Vulcan reflexes, how dare they be faster than his?), got an arm around his throat and smoothly knocked his feet out from under him, letting him land face-first onto the soft padding of the gym floor.

Jim did not fail to notice that the arm threatening his throat was also responsible for preventing him from being knocked out from below or crushed by Spock's considerably heavier body from above.

"Damn it," he choked out, feeling the warmth from Spock's body atop him and around his neck. "Damn it, fight me!"  
"No," Spock said into Jim's ear, very softly. "That will not help you."

"Yes it would," Jim muttered peevishly, knowing he sounded less than half his age and not caring. "It'd make me feel better!"

"Perhaps you should turn your aggression on those who have aroused it," Spock said conversationally, neither removing his arm from around Jim's throat or getting up.

Jim took a deep breath. Another. "I'm not some damsel in distress," he enunciated as clearly as he could. As clearly as anyone within a muscle twitch of being strangled could.

"Clearly not, Jim," Spock said. Jim noted that he was _STILL_ not getting up. "You are certainly not a woman."

Jim laughed, and then choked on Spock's arm. Spock then took the hint and loosened his hold, though to Jim's growing annoyance, STILL didn't get up. If Spock weighed less, Jim could easily have done a pushup and gotten him off that way, but Spock was heavier than he looked. Stupid heavy-gravity worlders.

"Jim, what happened on the last mission is not a descriptor of your being, or perceived manliness," Spock said, after a few moments of silence that Jim was steadfastly refusing to think was awkward. "You were in an untenable situation, and in those circumstances, it is both logical and prudent to accept outside help."

"Being held captive by those women armed with pointy sticks doesn't put a dent in my 'perceived manliness,' you said?" Jim ground out sarcastically, really wishing Spock would get off his back. Literally.

"Quite, sir," Spock said, seemingly not taking notice of the potential suggestiveness of their position. Something that Jim was trying harder and harder to ignore as time went on. "Those women, as you put it, were all over two meters tall, the gravity on that world was heavier than Earth-standard, and you were being held in a cage suspended from a branch of a tree." Pause. "They appeared to reproduce in a parthenogenic manner, so capturing an atypical looking, to their thinking, person in the away team was only logical." Another, slightly longer pause, and a minute shift of position. "They did appear to greatly appreciate the golden nature of your shirt."

"Yeah," Jim said, rolling his eyes even though he knew Spock wouldn't see it. "Everyone's crazy for a sharp-dressed man, I guess."

"So, you see?" Spock continued. "Requiring additional personnel to effect your rescue is not in any way seen as emasculating to a culture and species that does not have men, so your embarrassment is illogical."

"If only telling me that worked, Spock," Jim sighed, relaxing into the mat. He felt Spock's weight settling more evenly on him and decided that while being pinned down like this was initially annoying, in a strange way, it was also comforting and comfortable.

"Virility has nothing to do with strength or self-reliance, Jim," Spock murmured. "You are as you ever were."

"So says the guy who nails me to the mat without breaking a sweat," Jim grumbled.

"Only to say that I would be happy to spar with you when you are not in so dangerous a mood, Jim."

"On one condition, then, Spock."

"Sir?"

"If you LET ME UP."

* * *

I tend to get ideas for fics when I go through stuff in real life. What I post depends on my mood, and this mood wasn't good, though what came of it, hopefully, was. Please let me know what you think!


	2. Deceptive Apperances

This chapter was difficult for me to write. Not because it wasn't fun (oh, it was!), but I had to do a _lot_ of research to get some of the details right. I found out a few things that made me feel like my Star Trek universe was shaken. Did you know that a normal Vulcan body temp is actually around 91F? I'd always assumed it was higher! It would be **sexier** if it were higher! Alas, no. In addition, I had to research rankings and whether or not it is appropriate to address a lt. commander by either "lieutenant' or the higher ranking, "commander." It can be either, which surprised me. Also (finally), I will apologize in advance to the people who actually know more about starship design than I. I tried, I did, but if you spot inconsistencies with armament and the like, please please _please_ tell me so that I can either correct it or note it for future stories. In the meantime, here is the next chapter! Please enjoy!

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Chapter Two: Deceptive Appearances

Uhura prided herself on being tranquil, calm, the eye to every storm on the bridge of the _Enterprise,_ and the driving force behind the command team. She dedicated herself to working behind the scenes of the trio who essentially kept the entire crew from death, capture, or constant threats of hyposprays. Her well-timed reports and skill with languages and the mysteries of the communications board served her people well, and she always strived for higher accomplishments and more to do that could protect everyone aboard the ship.

It was with some pleasure that Uhura sat in the command chair this stardate, outside her comfort zone but relishing this rare opportunity to command. The Captain, Mr. Spock, and the Doctor were all down on the M-class planet below. An earlier inquiry of the missions specs reported a constant temperature of about 27C, well within hominid tolerance levels (though she suspected the desert-adapted Mr. Spock would think otherwise, should he admit a preference), with oxygen levels slightly higher than Terran normal. Though the planet was uninhabited according to scans, exploration was a rarely practiced part of their mission directive, and Captain Kirk, she knew, indulged in it whenever he could.

"Mr. Chekov, please put the planet on the viewscreen," Uhura requested.

"Yes, ma'am," the slightly-built Russian replied, obligingly pushing some buttons and levers. The previously inactive viewscreen changed to show the planet orbiting serenely (Uhura chastised herself a bit about anthromorphizing a body in space) below them as they kept pace with the rotational spin. The greens and blues of the landmasses surrounded by water looked both peculiarly vivid and differently colored.

"Mr. Sulu, would you say that the planet has an unusual chlorophyllic chemical structure?" One of Sulu's accomplishments was that he was an accomplished botanist. Uhura always attempted to stay abreast of her friends' hobbies and habits.

Sulu turned around in his chair slightly to glance at her with an appreciative smile, then turned back to his tactical display. "Couldn't say for sure, Uhura," he replied. "I'm certain Mr. Spock will get me samples of the flora to test, and then I could answer for sure, but what I'm seeing probably confirms a different base element than magnesium, though probably not too structurally different otherwise."

"I'll be interested in reading that report later, mister," Uhura said with a small smile. She decided then that it would be a good idea to check in with the away team. Looking down toward her right hand, she thumbed the appropriate keys (she had been the one to set them up, after all) to reach the Captain's communicator.

"Uhura to Captain Kirk. Come in, Captain."

"Hello, Lieutenant. Checking up on us kids, are we?"

Uhura had to smile a little at the Captain's customary irreverence. "Someone has to keep you out of trouble, sir," she said jokingly. "You see anything interesting down there?"

"Not much to me, but Spock and McCoy seem to be going crazy about the plants," was his reply. "Probably tons of medical properties about them. They're taking samples as we speak-"

Just then, the red alert siren sounded, and the computer's toneless voice stated, _"red alert, red alert, this is no drill, this is no drill."_

"Incursion into the system, Lieutenant," Sulu said tersely, bringing the shields online. "One ship. Readings coming in-"

"Uhura, what's going on with _my ship?_" Kirk's voice nearly drowned out Sulu's report as the viewscreen showed a ship decelerating out of warp.

"Incoming ship, Captain," Sulu replied, not waiting for Uhura herself to answer. "Appears to be a Klingon Warbird, K'tinga class-"

"Confirmed, Lieutenant," Chekov interjected. "Their shields are up, weapons currently offline-"

"Captain, with all due respect, find somewhere to hide," Uhura said tightly. "Commencing battle preparations, though I will try negotiating first-"

"Belay that, Lietenant!" Kirk bellowed through the link. "Beam me up!"

"Shots being fired, Uhura! Brace for impact!"

The Enterprise rocked, thankfully not hard enough to throw people out of their seats.

"Location of shot," Uhura ordered.  
"Lateral starboard-"

"Second incursion used the shielding of the first," Sulu said, sounding remarkably collected. "Same class of ship. Tight flying there; they must have a good pilot."

"Sulu, evasive," Uhura snapped. "Admire them later!"

The view on the screen yawed wildly as Sulu took them slightly out of orbit to reduce the dangerous effects of the nearby gravity well on their maneuverability. More shots were fired, though Uhura did not yet order Chekov to return fire. "Donaldson," she ordered her replacement at the comm board. "Try to raise the Klingon ships."

A few terse seconds went by while Uhura held to the armrest of the command chair and tried to resist the urge to throw Donaldson out of her chair and take _her_ rightful place-

"No response, Lieutenant."  
"Get me allcall, then," Uhura said. "All hands, this is Uhura. Two Klingon ships now in the system are taking shots at us. Prepare for battle." She looked around and realized she had forgotten one thing. "Red alert! All hands, battle stations!" She decided to beat herself up later over forgetting the first task she usually underwent when they were attacked.

"Uhura, we've got unfriendlies down here," Kirk said tightly. "Going to sign off now and run."  
"We'll be back for you soon, Captain," Uhura replied. "Out." She thumbed the switch. The red alert lights started to flash. "Sulu, Chekov, report!"

"Shields down to eighty percent," Sulu said, still focused on his evasive.

"Phasers ready when you are, Lieutenant," Chekov said.

"Donaldson-" She had to be sure they wouldn't break off before committing. Had to.

"No response to continued hails, Lieutenant."

She had been afraid of that. Now to safeguard her crew. "Chekov, fire at will. Disable them."

"Aye, ma'am," Chekov said, and bent his formidable will to making the precise shots she called for, and nothing else. No one on the Enterprise, she knew, was more accurate than Chekov, wanted less to kill without excuse than Chekov. It was a pity he hadn't gone in the medical field, with a view like that, Uhura had thought in more peaceful times. Then again, had McCoy been his teacher, Chekov would probably be popping veins with the same accuracy and speed as when he fired upon attacking ships. He was probably better where he was.

In her moment of abstract thought, Chekov had managed to disable one of the Klingon attackers' engines without killing them outright. She was relieved at that, and took in information from her officers like water after a hike.

"Confirmed engines down, life support offline-"

"Commander, their weapons offline-"

"Our shields at seventy percent-"

"Scotty reports engines running at peak capacity-"

This last comment she acknowledged. "Donaldson, get me Engineering," Uhura ordered. A moment later, she heard Montgomery Scot's distinct voice reach her ears.

"Aye, Lieutenant?"

"Scotty, anything going on down there I need to know about?"

"Nae, lass," the irrepressible Scotsman replied. "My group and I are just fine, and the shields are holding up strong."

"We may need them in the next brief while, Scotty. Keep me advised." She waved to Donaldson. "Sulu, where' s the other ship?"

"Scared him into running, Uhura," Sulu replied, not taking his eyes from his sensor readouts. "On the other side of the planet, hiding from us."

"Hiding," Uhura mused, not comfortable with that thought. In all her years serving in Starfleet and fighting the undeclared but very vicious war with the Klingons, she'd never known one to cut his losses and run before. Suddenly, it hit her, and she sat upright. "Donaldson, locate the Captain and his party! _Now!_"

"On it, Lieutenant."

She dug her nails into the armrests of the Captain's chair, and noticed distantly that she had forgotten to clip them this morning. There were small crescent-shaped tears in the fabric. She'd have to apologize to the Captain for it later-

"Can't raise them, Lieutenant."

"Sulu, scan for lifesigns, human and Vulcan," she said tightly.

She thanked God that the planet was uninhabited; the body temperatures of two humans and a lone Vulcan (who always ran cooler than a human unless sick) would be easy to spot among the plants and wildlife.

"Found them, Lieutenant," Sulu said, not sounding happy. _At all._ Uhura's stomach clenched with realization.

"They're captured, aren't they." It was a statement.

"Surrounded," Sulu said in dismay. Then, ironically remembering himself, "ma'am."

Donaldson cleared his throat at that moment. Uhura turned to look at him. "Message just came through, ma'am," he said. "Squirt from the hiding ship."

"On screen," Uhura said, feeling odd about saying it even while knowing it was the correct order.

Abruptly, the view of the disabled Klingon warship and the planet disappeared to show a cramped, dark bridge. A scowling Klingon (Uhura privately wondered if they had any other facial expressions) glared at them, seemingly finding her eyes and meeting them. Uhura kept her back straight in the chair and stared right back. The image couldn't hurt her, she knew. The words might.

"I am Commander Kreyalk of the Klingon vessel _Bat'leth_," declared the sitting figure. The translator circuits of the communications board took the words (decidedly not spoken in Federation standard) and translated them. The result was a very unfortunate unsynchronization with the words that usually gave Uhura the desire to laugh. She didn't want to laugh today.

"I currently hold your landing party on this uncharted planet," Kreyalk continued blithely, unaware of the fact that he was addressing a woman. He hadn't mentioned Kirk's name at all. Possibly this was one of the very few Klingons in the galaxy her Captain hadn't managed to offend. Yet.

"I demand the commander of the vessel come down and submit himself to a challenge. Should I win, I take your miserable life and that of your crew, and the ship goes to us for the spoils. Should you win-" a very nasty grin answered Uhura's question about potential other facial expressions-"which you won't, you get to leave free and without reprisal for the damage you have inflicted on us. I give you one Federation standard hour to respond, by beaming down to where we hold your landing party. Long live the Empire." The screen went blank, then back to the view of the planet and the drifting ship.

For a moment, Uhura sat and breathed as deeply as she could. One slow breath. Exhale. Another breath. It didn't help. Nothing helped, or could help her now. She had never, ever been so furious in her life. A faint red haze was clouding her vision. She didn't wipe her eyes (it wasn't blood) but she did her best to force the tinge away. Think, she told herself. Think like you've never thought before in your life. _Channel_ that rage, dammit...

One more deep breath. Then she raised her head. Uhura knew she was still outwardly calm, but from the way Donaldson flinched when she glanced his way, something scary must have been in her eyes. Good. Maybe she would scare the Klingons into a heart attack and wouldn't have to fight at all.

"Donaldon, get me Scotty again."

"Done, ma'am."

"Scotty, this is Uhura. You have the conn until I return." Deep breath. Remember to _breathe_, woman. Breathe so you won't growl.

"What do you mean, lass? Tisn't a smart move you're thinking of doing!"

"Tell that to the log, Scotty. You have one minute to come up here and take the conn. Hurry up."

"But-" She knew that Scotty wasn't looking too happy at this point. She could guess that without a problem. She wished she could care. She heard him sigh. "Aye, ma'am."

Uhura made the cut-off gesture at Donaldson, who obligingly shut down the audio. Then she waited. One second, another, another, and yet another. This had to be the longest minute of her life. She couldn't go down to the planet until Scotty got to the Bridge. Finally, Scotty, tall and proud, arrived, and without even a greeting, she moved toward the turbolift. "Donaldon, have the transporter room prepared."

The door closed before she could hear her backup's reply.

-()()()-

The faint high whine of the transporter filled her ears as its sparkle dazzled her eyes. Uhura had had the transporter room ensign beam her a slight distance away from the group of Klingons holding her Captain, the Doctor and Mr. Spock hostage. Despite the Klingon species' professed honor, she didn't trust them not to simply shoot her as soon as the transporter field released her. Shooting at her in combat was a different story, but she figured walking up to them rather than beaming down in their midst would give her the element of surprise. Hopefully.

Uhura walked the short distance to the camp, taking care not to disturb the underbrush and foilage hanging down. Dimly, through her anger, she admired the beauty of the greenery around her, knowing when (if) she survived this, she would want to take a picnic basket down here and eat. _Focus_, Uhura...

Reaching the clearing, she deliberately rustled some leaves, waited a moment, then stepped out. The Klingon commander's customary arrogance melted away into blatant surprise at the sight of her. Uhura filed that away for later. Perhaps someone in Starfleet Command would be interested to know that they could do more than scowl.

"_You_ command the _Enterprise_?" Kreyalk demanded, sounding incredulous. Uhura took a moment to appreciate how the stunned expression on that face made the commander look precisely like a bulging-eye squeeze toy she had seen once on Earth. "I have been given that task," Uhura said firmly. "I am Commander Uhura." She did not so much as glance over at Kirk to see how he took that statement.

Apparently, Kreyalk wasn't done being amazed. "They would allow a _woman_ to lead a starship into battle?"

Uhura smirked and adopted an arrogant pose. "They allow women a lot of things in my neck of the universe," she murmured dulcently. "Clearly. Now, I demand the release of my personnel-"

"You demand nothing, _woman!_" Kreyalk had clearly not heard of female empowerment or emancipation.

"I demand plenty,_ Klingon,_" Uhura sneered right back at him. "You have unjustly attacked my ship, captured my crew, and now you think that with one little starship at your beck and call, you can kill us all?" She set her hands on her hips and laughed, a ugly barking sound. "Your other ship didn't last long against us. What makes you think yours _will?_"

Kreyalk actually spluttered with shock. Uhura wondered if the man expected an easy, swift capitulation simply because he was Klingon, apparently had them outnumbered in space, and now had the advantage on the ground. Deciding that she would be better served by giving the idiot Klingon a moment to recover, she looked around. Two Klingons armed with nasty looking phasers stood warily near Kirk, Spock and McCoy. One had his weapon trained right on her midsection, while the other kept his guard up with the trio. Uhura's ears didn't detect any Klingons hiding in the clearing, which explained why she had been allowed to approach without getting shot. Her rage dimmed slightly upon realizing that the Klingon commander hadn't even set up an appropriate perimeter. For one terrible moment, Uhura was tempted to smile.

"Your words are nothing, woman," Kreyalk proclaimed, baring his teeth in an attempt to threaten. "I have your people, and on my command, my people will kill them, unless you surrender your ship to me. All know how soft-hearted you humans are-"

Uhura had had _enough_. "I challenge you."

"-and you will...what?"

Priceless. Squeeze toy became bug-eyed fish.

"I _said,_" Uhura repeated, enunciating very clearly and speaking like she would to a concussed person, "I challenge you. If I beat _you_, we leave without further provocation. If you beat _me_, then we surrender."

Kreyalk just gaped at her. Uhura wondered about the Klingon High Command and why they put idiots like this into space with power over other people. Perhaps they simply killed everyone who actually displayed common sense and then only had people like this left over. From what rumors had passed to the Federation from that area of space, the explanation she had been thinking about seemed depressingly likely. Reverse Darwinism seemed to operating there at its highest capacity.

"You think I would fight _you_, woman?" Oh, clearly Uhura was dealing with a _genius_. She was still furious, but it was being tempered into something she could better control.

"Either you do or you lose by default," Uhura said coldly, and had the slight pleasure of seeing the two Klingon guards nodding at her words. Seems like those two had escaped the purging of intelligence in their space program.

"Very well," Kreyalk said, attempting to bluster and intimidate her by looming. "Let's begin-"

That was what Uhura had been waiting for. She didn't hesitate. She knew better than to engage in prolonged hand-to-hand with a Klingon, who had their own natural body armor as well as what they already wore, and were much stronger as well. She went straight for the part not covered by the plating.

Her long stride forward brought her within kicking distance, and with the whole weight of her body, she thrust a sidekick directly at Kreyalk's kneecap, trusting that the patella of a Klingon was not much thicker than that of a human.

Her assumption proved correct, and Kreyalk went down screaming, his leg bleeding horribly, with bone showing through the fabric and torn, dusky flesh. He clutched his knee and continued that horrible sound. Uhura watched him writhe coldly.

"Dammit, Uhura," McCoy exclaimed, standing up. He would have rushed forward to help the Klingon Commander, but was prevented by the guards holding the phasers. The one who had been aiming at Uhura deliberately holstered his weapon. "Commander Uhura, it is your right to finish him off," he intoned solemnly.

Uhura hesitated a moment. The rage had receded a bit with that hit, and it went further away as she saw her opponent suffering. Was this sufficient revenge? The fizzing in her veins decreased a bit more with every second that went by. She could. She was fully capable of killing him.

But..."No," she said firmly, folding her arms across her chest. "Let him remember his idiocy by remaining alive. You may take him aboard your ship and tow the other one away within half a Federation hour, or I will shoot to kill this time."

The armed Klingon nodded to her with respect, and holstered his weapon. Together, he and his fellow hoisted their commander upright and barked orders into a communicator that Uhura's intradermal translator didn't render. Her linguistic aptitudes took over and she noted the dialect they used. Probably a new code. She would make sure to follow up on that later with Starfleet.

The beaming effect took place, and the Klingons disappeared. Only then did Kirk and Spock stand and make their way to where Uhura stood. She idly tapped her fingers against her biceps and waited for them to reach her.

"You are _insane,_ Uhura," Kirk said, sounding as though he wasn't sure whether he should be impressed or terrified. She hoped he'd go with the former.

"A most reckless chance, Commander," Spock said, looking as collected as he always did. Uhura did pick up the slightly harder emphasis on his words that told her he was controlling himself more tightly than usual. His concern warmed her.

"Damned bloody mess you made of that idiot Klingon, though," McCoy joined in.

"Either that or let him make a bloody mess of us," Uhura said mildly. "Besides, he made me angry."

"Remind me never to make you mad, then," Kirk said with a wary respect. "Let's get back to the ship, then. I presume you left Scotty in command?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. I'll note that in the log." Kirk paused a moment, and looked at her. A bruise on his jaw was rapidly starting to color, presumably from their earlier capture, but Kirk didn't seem to notice it. "Why did you come down by yourself?"

"Because they expected it, sir." Uhura was calm again.

"But they were expecting me." Kirk seemed bewildered.

"No, they were expecting the commanding officer of the _Enterprise,_" Uhura replied, looking him in the eyes. A small smile curved her lips. "We finally ran into some Klingons who _didn't_ know who you were, so they didn't know until I beamed down that the ship was being commanded by me."

"Yeah, that commander didn't seem too happy about meeting a woman," McCoy noted.

"Most illogical," Spock replied.

"I don't think they have much stock in logic, Mr. Spock," Uhura said lightly, getting out her communicator. "They just thought they were strong enough to kill whoever came down, and damn the torpedos."

"Which they weren't," Kirk said softly.

"No, sir," Uhura said, flipping the communicator open. "They weren't."

* * *

Uhura has always been an understated but wonderful character in the Star Trek universe. Racial differences being what they were at the time, she was still sadly underutilized, something that's being remedied both in books (several of them among my favorites) or, as I understand it, in the latest Star Trek movie adaptation. She's always struck me as someone who only uses violence when utterly necessary, but that _doesn't_ mean she's a pushover. She simply knows when to hit, how hard, and when to back off. Mental intimidation is nothing to be scoffed at either.

Please tell me what you think! I'm always eager to hear what others have to say about what I write!


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